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DASH: The Train Song

Captain Garfield, retired, aproached the non-descrept warehouse, one of more than a dozen along the highway just south of the Cottonbowl stadium. New buildings were finally going up on the other side of the highway, but these twenty year old buildings were better suited to the F.B.I.'s little project. Especially since most of it was to be 'eyes only'.
It was also Garfield's own pet project, since he had been assigned as, well, 'recruiter', and old Spotlight had been his choice. Even thou the 'super' was suspect in numerous drug-related murders, even the retired detective had not been able to prove any charge against the vigilante. Except, perhaps, assault. And that was still iffy.
Capt. Garfield put his bare hand on the key plate, knowing that it would admit him easily. Since 9-11, almost all businesses had gone to some form of idint-check system. This was the best, first doing the usual print check, then doing the mutant check, and finally doing the majic test. The read-out chirped, positive, negative, negative. And the door lock clicked.
Garfield smiled his knowing smile, and went inside.
The Hindu girl at the secretary's desk, glanced up from her work, her big round glasses almost opscuring the small red dot on her forehead. The retired detective couldn't help it, that little dot just made her more sexy to him. "We have a situation already," she said, "The director will see you right away." She went back to studying what ever was on her comp screen.
"Damn, and still no one wants to be a hero around here. Even Spotlight can barely be coaxed out of the lab we gave him!" Garfield sighed, "Well, after thirty years of being on everyone's wanted list, who can blame him."
Garfield strood to the next office door, his Columbo style long coat fluttering slightly. He snachted a cigar from an inside pocket, enjoying the chance to play his part, even if his tall lanky form was much different than the picture he tried to 'paint' as the absent-minded detective. Only the two inch circle of white hair in his other-wise kink covered head and smooth dark skin revealed his true age of near sixty. He was healthy and spry, and amid suggestion of some that it was un-natural, Garfield simply would point to the standard no mutant tests that all goverment jobs now required. 'Some of us are just lucky' he would state.
As he opened the door, strains of a song pored out, "the train they called the City of New Orleans...", someone turned of the recorder as he entered. Several field agents were there, as well as the director of this facility. "We need help now," Dir. James hissed at Garfield, "We detected majic residue. I know that Spotlight is useless in that area, but there must be some one you can recruit an short notice."
Garfield shook his head, "I can only try at the local wizard guild, but they love to charge a huge fee."
Dir. James snarled at bit. "This has all the marks af a terroist cell, a dozen un-explainable deaths, it only came to us because it happened on a mail train, giving the FBI jurisdiction." He shook his head, "First day of official operation ..."

Email me your character and post your 'employment request' with the cute secretary. remember, all experience and advancement will be based on your posts and actions during posts. In other words, PDQ style, although character description and such should be transmitted in HeroSystem Champions set-up. If you prefer other formats, do so, I have the 'books' or can get them.

I've been wandering for days. I'm by no means tired, or even hungry, but I am starved for something. My mind seems to catch on any detail, exploding the mundane into a crystal filled with awe and wonder. Sand grains look like little prisms, I see fractal patterns in the grass. Out of this over-immersion of sensory attack, I spy a call for a wizard over the background noise of data that I am drowniing in.
Wizard. I have latched on to a word that I know little about. I follow the stream of information back to its source. Death, destruction... government. The government would be a perfect place to hide from the government. One department would not like another asking/probing/interfering. One chief doesn't want another telling him what to do. Perhaps.. perhaps.

I find my way easily to the location of the data's source, and come into thier abode. A dusky woman with a tell-tale mark on her forehead looks me over. I am likely the most disreputable looking figure she has seen. 200 pounds and several inches under six foot tall with long, white, shaggy, unkempt beard and hair, I'm no one's idea of a beauty. I tell her that I heard they were needing help, and that I am an expert data sorter. I may be able to assist them. I understand that majic may be involved in your little problem, and I may be able to help there, as well.

Startled, she asked me how I knew they even had a problem, as her boss had just contacted the wizard's guild. I simply said... "Wizard" with an amused look on my face. "I think you may be able to help us after all", said a man smoking an very illegal, and very tempting looking cigar. "Come, let us talk a spell"